


City of Saints Forgetting His Name

by ofproperform (orphan_account)



Series: We'd Only Burn Alive From This (AluTegra) [1]
Category: Hellsing
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Church Sex, Confessional Sex, F/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Voyeurism, i bet there's a hell and if there isn't it's being built so i can go there, it would be non consensual voyeurism if makube wasn't down to go to pound town with both of them, tagging just in case, when i started writing fanfiction i never thought i would be known for writing shit like this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 05:46:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10074959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ofproperform
Summary: Makube should really stop inviting Integra to confess her sins. Because her sins travel with her at all time.





	

Makube had invited her to service too many times for her to turn him down now, but she had conditions for how this would go.

  1. He had to be there
  2. He had to be the person taking her confession.
  3. he’d only listen if the Protestant-shaming was at the bare minimum.



He didn’t protest when she appeared in her finest dress suit; exchanging slacks for the rare skirt, heels replacing her normal dress boots. She held a pamphlet from just beyond the door in her hands, gloved fingers still scented like her last cigar. He did protest when a shadow darkened the threshold of the cathedral; the protestant woman bringing Alucard around with her in part of her conditions that she had **not** discussed before. When he crossed the threshold with mere ease, laughing in hollowness, Integra grinned at Makube.

“Chief Makube, it looks as if your holy ground doesn’t keep my servant **out**.” it was a well placed jab that dug under ribs and left the scarred papist red in his face. “Be glad he thought he should dress for the occasion though.” Alucard had worn a fine suit, handsome, elegant, disarming. A pair both divine and terrifying side by side.

Alucard had been nigh inseparable from her since his return. Who had chosen this insufferable closeness was nearly impossible to figure out now; had integra ordered it or had he started this connection. Even Seras had felt the push away from her leader Integra, they were so close until his return, and now she felt third-wheeled. But it was hard to separate a pair as close as they were, and after years apart Integra and Alucard were not about to start letting go now. World be damned.  The pair had slid into a more intense coupling than their servant and master dynamic from before the war. Things had shifted. Become more desperate. Time had scarred them deeply. They were making up for thirty years and desperately trying to double the years they had left while Integra lasted on this earth.

So as her crimson shadow crept behind her, laughing as she silently walked along the pews, sitting down close to the front as she studied the pamphlet, she quietly mused to herself (and perhaps him,) about how drastic the Catholics made going to church seem. She tossed the pamphlet to the pew; useless information that she’d only retain for the hours they sat here, before forgetting on the ride home.

“Perhaps, Miss Integra, you can go to confession if you want-- after services are done?” Makube tried to return the barb. A flicker of something in her eyes; and she gave a smile, something pleasant, sickening, approving of the idea. She shot a playful but steely look at Alucard.

“Certainly, Chief Makube, that’s actually one of the better ideas you’ve had. But, like bringing Alucard to sermon, I’ll be bringing him to confession as well,”  
“But Miss Hellsing--!”  
“No, I won’t leave him to be pestered-- and provoked-- by you papists. And anyway, it won’t be as if he doesn’t know my sins.” She laughs, rather as hollow as Alucards laugh was, and her laugh is echoed by a chuckle soft and rather sinister. "And one must bare _all_ their sins in confession, correct?"

Makube nods in resignation and is sweating as he walks away.

It is a long Mass. One full of looks shared between Master and Servant, Count and Countess, sly grins replying to offhand glances. Exchanging looks that told more intense stories than the Mass would have-- and finally, after every parishioner had filtered out they remain.

“I think I have a date with my sins, now.”  
“Aren’t you supposed to Repent, Integra?”  
“Who said I was ever repentant over them?” Integra and Alucard, side by side, slipped like silence itself towards the confession booth. The door was opened by the vampire; he waved her inside before stepping in behind her.

Makube was in the priests booth beside them. Why, he’d decided to take the burden of this on himself he’d wonder for quite some time.

“Master there’s not much room in this booth-- it’s **cramped**.”  
“Well sit down, I’ll just have to _make do_ , won’t I?” She chuckled, hearing the slide of the small vent between the two sides of the booth open from Makube’s side. She sat on Alucards lap; already a shameful thing in the eyes of this Bishops eyes; perched precariously on his knee. Integra had shucked her suit jacket and left it outside the booth, his stark white suit jacket left as well.

“Forgive me, Father. For I have sinned.” She felt hands on her back, hissed a breath, grinned; she opened the vent- “It has been thirty one years since my last confession. Bishop Maxwell, God Rest his Soul,” her fingers clasped one of those hands-- pulled it around to her front. While the free hand snuck under the back of her waistband the one she’d captured was guided to each button on her blouse.

He was stunned, Makube might have called out to stop them, but a darker voice rang out

“I do believe you might need to say “May God the Father of all mercies help you make a good Confession,” holyman.” Alucard sounded as if he was not within the booth with Integra but beside Makube, chuckling it right beside his ear.

Makube echoed the words Alucard had used.

Integra began. Thirty years of sin. “I shot a man and lost count how many times I fired on him, I killed him. I ended a war. I killed many men and women. I led a fully fledged counter strike against invading armies. I killed holymen, I killed my enemies. I lost count.” The more she talked, never wavering, almost sounding proud, Alucards hands were roving over now exposed skin. She listed specific people she killed, special deaths, ones that lasted in her mind. The more detailed, the more she felt Alucard’s gloved fingers explore her tanned skin.

Integra chuckled despite herself when Alucard whispered against her hair to “r _emember the drinking_ ,” he might have been enjoying this as much as she was.

“Ah, yes. I drink. Daily. Every night, I drink at least a quarter a bottle of Scotch.” He had her nearly completely exposed then, and so was he, with the aide of his abilities. “I smoke at least, oh God, 8 cigarillos a day. Oh and I take the Lords name in vain.” She said, before gasping when a finger pressed between her legs and against her sex.

“And _don’t forget_ the sex out of wedlock.” And that’s when Makube choked a noise out, tried to close his vent but it had been wedged open by Alucard's inky black tendrils. Alucard laughed, raucous, before Integra hummed a noise out.

“And _sex in the church_. I’m _**certainly** _ going to hell for that.”

Alucard had her on his lap now, no longer perched on his knee. Her age had not stopped her fire; not had it impeded her vicious amusement in destroying people like Makube in anyway she could. Her fingers tangled in inky black hair and she kissed him with the burn that iron crosses could singe damned skin with, and they broke the kiss with a gasped moan, before she rolled tanned hips against his pale body.

“Now Makube- be a dear. Close your Vent, stay there, and do whatever it is that holymen do when they’re trying to stay pure. As if you’re honestly so pure.” She mocked, and heard his vent snap shut, and heard him start praying. “And Alucard; my Count.”

“Yes, my Countess?” Alucard asked, fingers against her tan thighs, holding her up. She was a sculpture made of iron and brass. He was alabaster and majestic, a marble statue. She grinned down at him. They were burning against each other. This unholy, wicked act in one of the most coveted holy places. Her lips pressed to his ear, she closed icy eyes, gently ran her fingers through his hair, and whispered:

“Fuck me.”  
“As you wish, Integra.” They moved, He wrapped her legs around his waist, picked her up, and pinned her against the wall of the confessional. It was slow, hard thrusts, teasing-- but who he was teasing they wouldn’t be sure for a while. Her sounds, soft gasps, deep breaths, gentle moans, were muffled into his shoulder. She rolled her hips into his with each thrust. They built a rhythm as terrifying as they were.

Eventually even the iron woman couldn’t control her sounds as she approached her climax-- loud, breaking moans that threatened to give them away to more than just Makube. As she surged forward over her precipice, she murmured how close she was. Alucard whispered his equal readiness.

As they reached that fitting end, both gasping one another's name, Integra pressed back into the wall, panting, feeling Alucards face press against her chest, as he heaved needless breaths into her skin, kissing her softly through gasps.

“Now… Makube… what does a priest say when one confesses all their sins?”

“God the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of His son, has reconciled the world to Himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” He shook through it, the sound of which leaked through his voice, barely making it through his words.  
“Amen,” she chuckled, as she and Alucard redressed.  
“Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good.” He gulped, there were things he'd need to confess tonight; or perhaps he would never confess. Things he'd do in the dark; because how holy is the Zealot Makube?

She finished buttoning her blouse as Alucard finished phasing his clothing straight, and she opened the confessionals door.  
“His mercy endures forever.” She finished, stepping out to retrieve her jacket. Alucard draped his jacket over his shoulder, and idly reached for her with dark tendrils of inky blackness to straighten her mussed hair-- something she looked back at him idly for.

As they walked out they didn’t wait to see Makube.

Perhaps he’d stop being so cocky about his power and clout, and the strength of the Vatican. Because they weren’t struck down after that, so what was there really, but a box and two sinners who made a mockery of the box?


End file.
